The Fury
by AndBeAVillian
Summary: The way forward is sometimes the way back. Jill, Wesker, and the beginning. Sequel to Window, but can be read on its own. WeskerxJill
1. The Beginning

A/N: This is the sequel to Window, my other story. I am trying to make this able to stand on its own, so you don't necessarily have to read Window to enjoy this.

Review if you have time, k?

_The Beginning_

* * *

_We are merely the stars' tennis balls, struck and bandied_

_Which way please them._

_-Bosola, The Duchess of Malfi_

* * *

A slender pale body finally sleeps in a real bed with real pillows for the first time in years. Three hours ago Albert Wesker had burned to death in a volcano.

Three hours ago she had pulled Chris and Sheva to safety, finally free of the damn chest piece and P30.

Her dreams are not restful.

* * *

_The desk is just as she remembered it. A stack of papers waiting to be filled out, a mug of coffee still half-full, catnip bag still half empty. The desk of a S.T.A.R.S. member. _

_A gold plaque reads Jill Valentine. _

"_Hey Jilly." The ragged undead form of Joe Frost sits in her chair Al the station cat in his lap, smiling with the half-mouth he has left. "You did good Jilly. You're ready." _

What?

_The cat's smug red-gold eyes watch her unblinking, purring like a small engine. _

_The sigh makes her long blond bangs flutter. Wesker is dead. Her captivity is over. When would it be enough? _

"_Joe, I'm done. It's over. What more can I do?" Another figure shuffles out of the corridor to her left, a thin ruin in a puffy yellow vest. Brad Vickers' eyes are a decayed filmy white. _

"_What heroes do Jill. Save the world." The undead smile gleefully at her frustrated face. A slimy hand grasps hers, pressing a small object into her fingers._

_A coin. _

"_Don't forget, we will always be with you. Now wake up Jill."_

* * *

A black cat curles itself into a ball by the face of a coma patient in the Racoon City Hospital, purring like a small engine.

The girl had pushed a co-worker out of the way of an oncoming car, suffering broken bones and massive head trauma three months ago.

The wounds hadn't been fatal, but the doctors could not explain why she wouldn't wake.

The slow steady beeping of the heart monitor changed for the first time in three months, the rhythm jumping faster, echoing in the small dusty room. Blue eyes closed for so long flickering open, squinting hazily around the dim room.

_Wha...?_

The ear-splitting scream echoing down the hallway had nurses running frantically into the small room, expecting something terrible to have occurred.

On the small bed sat a small woman with three inches of blond roots showing, a black cat clasped to her chest. Staring at the arrangements of fresh flowers and cards on the bedside table, most of them signed "We miss you Jilly, wake up soon, ok?" by various members of S.T.A.R.S. Staring at the plaque stating _Racoon City Hospital Award for Doctor Smith._

Members who had been dead for years. A hospital wiped off the face of the planet.

_But...but they're dead. This...can't be... What...? _

"What day is it?" The voice was a dull rasp, unused for months. Confusion and stark terror in those wide blue eyes, face deathly pale.

"Its August 1st, 1996 Miss Valentine." The lead nurse's voice is quiet, compassionate. Such a shock it must be to wake up here, to not remember the past three months. Poor girl.

_It can't be. No. Not again. _

For the first time in recorded history Jill Valentine faints, Albert the station cat still clutched to her chest. Still purring like a small engine, red-gold eyes smug.

The nurses never figure out how he got in. The doctor's never figured out why Jill Valentine's hair changed from brown to blond a week after the accident.

An ancient silver coin is clasped tightly in her left hand.

* * *

Half a town away another set of blue eyes flickers open irritably.

Captain Albert Wesker has never had stranger dreams.

Why the fuck would he dream he had the damn station cat's red-gold eyes? And why was Officer Valentine blond?

_Fucking cat._

* * *

_The way forward is sometimes the way back._

_-The Labyrinth_

* * *

A/N: Different, yeah? Good different I hope.


	2. Deja Vu

_A/N: DarkGothElegantGirl22: Thank you! Yes the cat could mean something...but Jill probably won't like it. Al is a little trouble maker, but he's around to stay. The beginning might be a bit slow but don't worry, things should get interesting in the next few chapters. :)_

_Hello again, welcome back. Review if you can, it is most appreciated._

_Deja Vu_

* * *

_By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest.  
_

_-Confucius _

* * *

The paper rustles as he flips the page over and stares blankly at the report in front of him, unable to recall what it was about or how the first half of the experiment went. This was his third try reading the report.

_Or just an exercise in futility._

Long fingers press into tired eyes. He was too old for fragmented nightmares. The bits and pieces of the odd dream so vividly clear, rather innocuous in themselves. It was the strange sense of dread and nausea accompanying them which perplexed him, so strong it felt as though a hand was squeezing his throat.

The girl in them bothered him too, the one he wanted to pull close and yet shove away. She looked far too much like Valentine. A blond version anyway.

Jill Valentine whose blue eyes were a mirror's reflection of his own. He has dreamed of ripping those eyes from their sockets. No one is like him. Especially not a nobody like her.

_Stay out of my head girl._

He has no intention of ending up in any compromising position with an underling, regardless of what his subconscious wanted to think. Only fools were easily blinded by lust.

No mere girl would have such power. It was just a dream, nothing more.

The phone sitting on the right side of his desk blares to life, the sound a sudden piercing discord in the silence of night. It makes him start, hands flying from his face causing the pages of the report to flutter to the ground.

Wesker sends the phone a glare that in the past had caused grown men to piss themselves. The black plastic machine continues to trumpet merrily, not intimidated in the slightest.

_Who the hell is calling now?_

Three am phone calls mean sex or emergencies. Neither suited his current mood. The caller ID flashes the station number. Maybe someone had done him a favor and shot Irons.

_I should be so lucky..._

"Wesker."

"Captain, you won't believe it." Barry Burton's deep baritone is gleeful, far too happy for an emergency. Far too happy for three am.

_Fucking night owl. _

The irritation shows in his voice.

"I definitely won't if you don't articulate it Barry."

"Its Jill, she's awake! The hospital just called she woke up twenty minutes ago! They're saying she's coherent and if she does well they'll even discharge her! I have to call the rest of the guys but I thought you should know first, Sir, since you were the one she pushed out of the way. Oh and I guess Al the station cat was in her room when she woke up...sneaky little bastard."

_Speak of the devil..._

Before a coherent reply could pass his lips the dial tone sounds. Barry had terrible phone etiquette. For a long moment, he simply stares at the phone in his hand. Twenty minutes ago he had woken from strange dreams with her in them.

_Coincidence but still...how odd..._

Slowly he sets the black cordless back in its cradle. He would have to visit her, along with the rest of the squad. She had saved his life after all, or at least saved him from grievous bodily injury. It would look odd if he didn't show gratitude.

_Stupid girl. Never sacrifice yourself for others, it isn't worth it. _

Gratitude he does not feel.

He leanes down to pick up the scattered report, scanning the pages with piercing blue eyes. Debating if it was worth trying to read again now.

No dream will effect his focus.

He settles the pages neatly back into the folder on his desk, blue eyes firmly fixed on the first line. A stray thought interrupts him.

_Miraculous recovery? Will she be fit to return to duty? _

Of course she would. She was one of his own, he only took the best. An image of the blond from his dreams flashes before his eyes. An image inappropriate according to regulations.

The desk drawer whines as he yanks it open, the file thrown hastily in. He slams the drawer shut, irritated.

Running was mindless and tiring. Perfect.

_Stay out of my head. _

Only as he pulls the dark RDP shirt over his head does Wesker wonder how Al the cat got half way across town and into the hospital without being noticed.

_Sneaky bastard indeed. Damn cat._

* * *

The glowing numbers on the clock face pin the time at four am exactly. The overnight nurses had been incredibly kind, finding the one thing Jill wanted more than anything else.

A choice.

Two boxes of dye sat on the small bathroom counter in front of her. One her original shade of auburn, the other the closest match to the Playboy bunny blond roots she has now.

Such a simple choice; light or dark, new or old. So absurdly simple yet for Jill it is suddenly the hardest choice she has ever made.

Believe or not.

The paper thin material of the hospital gown bunches in clenched hands as she sits on the toilet cover, blue eyes staring fixedly at the mirror. If those damn three inches would just go away, then it would be alright. It could have all been an incredibly bad dream, a by product of the drugs and the trauma. It could all have a rational explanation, even the coin no one remembered putting in her hand.

She shuts both eyes tight, like a child waiting for the imaginary monster to go away. Too bad her monsters are all too real, all too terrible. They won't disappear when her eyes open.

Three inches of pale gold hair.

_Fuck._

Two boxes on a counter, meaning so much more than they have any right to.

Al the station cat lays purring in the sink between them, a ball of black fur with red-gold slits for eyes.

_Do blonds really have more fun?_

* * *

"You look like hell warmed over Captain. Here, take this."

Wesker accepts the mug automatically, the Styrofoam cup steaming. He eyes it warily, but if the oil sludge the S.T.A.R.S. team concoct on a daily basis in the coffee pot hasn't killed him yet nothing will.

The beaming smile on Chris Redfield's face makes a withering retort dance on his tongue, but he swallows it down with the bitter brew. Today was not the time for pettiness. Even if Redfield did make him want to shoot something.

_Fucking idiot. _

He tosses the empty cup into a random trashcan as he walks, glancing around the beaming faces of Barry Burton, Brad Vickers, and Chris Redfield. Irons had grabbed him for the morning meeting anyway, right as he had been about to walk out the door with the rest of Alpha squad. It had cost him half an hour.

Any excuse to escape Irons was a good one. The man was disgusting.

"Joe's up with her now. She's doing real good, the docs are talking about releasing her in a few days if she doesn't get worse. They said there was no reason to think she'd relapse and she should be fit for duty an' all." Barry Burton's lumberjack form falls into step beside him, automatically spewing information.

"Good to hear."

Jill's room was in a quiet corner of the hospital, largely free of the bustle of nurses and visitors. A reminder of the early morning came over him, of someone holding his throat. He shoves the door open a little quicker than needed, ready to get this over with.

The door barely missed the two people standing inside by inches.

_What the hell?_

He knew he was staring, mouth slightly open, an expression of shock on his face. The young woman looking up at Joe Frost's laughing tan face was the exact one from his dream.

Blond hair and haunted blue eyes.

_Soft lips. _

"Jill since when are you _blond?" _ A thought vocalizes without permission, momentary trance broken. The sheer inanity of the question almost makes him blush.

Almost.

Jill pulls away from the hug Joe had enveloped her in, face jerking toward the door. An expression of utter terror flickers for a split second across her face. Or had he imagined it?

_Why...?_

Then she laughs

A full body laugh, like it was the funniest thing she had ever heard, thin shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

Wesker stares.

"Good to see you too Captain." Her blue eyes meet his with a strange burning intensity, unreadable. Light voice mocking. He finds himself pulled into a brief surprisingly strong hug for a three month coma patient, lasting only a few seconds before she almost shoves him away just as his arms unfreeze to return the gesture.

The dream bubbles to the surface of his mind, a strange deja vu.

_Get the fuck out of my head. _

He might have murmured some socially acceptable congratulations on her recovery as he retreated to a corner, watching the rest of his team fawn over her. It might have been incoherent babbling. He doesn't know. Too busy fighting the tense feeling in his spine and trying to smooth over his discomfort.

At intervals her disconcerting blue eyes would meet his, unreadable and burning.

_This is no coincidence. But what is it? _

A meow rises from the floor, dragging blue down to meet smug felines eyes of red-gold. Purring contentedly.

He would swear the damn thing was smiling at him.

* * *

In her dreams Joe Frost is a dead thing: tan skin slimy and ashen, ragged flesh hanging from teeth marked bone, half his laughing mouth gone, eyes oddly alive in his rotting shredded face. The vital, whole Joseph Frost in front of her feels shockingly unfamiliar.

_When did I get more comfortable with zombies than with people? They're easier to deal with I guess...you just shoot them..._

"Hey Jilly looking good! Never thought I'd see you as blond." The eyes make it bearable, the same kind laughing eyes from her dreams. Jill relaxes, some of the worried tension easing.

_I can do this._

"I didn't exactly plan on it..." Picking up the long ago banter with her old co-workers is like riding a bicycle, impossible to forget once you learn how.

"What happened while I was playing Sleeping Beauty?"

"Sleeping Beauty was woken by a prince."

"So? Al can be the prince. He's handsome like one. Aren't you Al?"

A startled sound comes from the bed as Jill rubs Al's sleeping head, making drowsy eyes glimmer contentedly up at her. Wesker's eyes without the rage. Jill can't pull up a memory when his eyes didn't burn with it.

Sleeping Beauty wasn't always such a cute Disney story. It was the story of a man who took without asking.

The air is hard to breath.

_Wesker. _

"Its good to have you back Jilly. I missed you. We all did." Strong hands pull her into a warm hug, one of the many she has gotten today. The team seemed to be passing them out like candy.

The door almost catches them when it swings open quickly, the room barely big enough for the bed, table, and plethora of machinery. The guys had gone for coffee, it was probably just Chris infused with caffeine bounding like an enthusiastic puppy.

"Jill since when are you _blond?" _ The accented voice of her waking nightmare has Jill jerking toward the door, instinctively terrified of an injection, mentally searching the room for a weapon.

Waiting for the rush that doesn't come, a blow that doesn't land.

The man in the doorway is staring, sunglasses hanging from the pocket of the combat shirt. Mouth slightly open blue eyes wide, an expression so startlingly human looking at home on sharp features.

Blue eyes so like her own he could have been a mirror.

_I'm not like him. I'm not. _

An admission not yet made haunts her, one she doesn't want to think about.

"_...Sometimes I think the same." _

Was it so wrong to want a better world? To try for it?

She can't be afraid of this him, when his eyes are blue and his face wears a humanity she hasn't seen in years.

_Did he just ask about my hair? _

Its the first real laugh in so long. Wesker's sharp features smooth out but she can still see the unease in him.

He is a book she knows by heart.

_Knowledge is power Al. _

Self-preservation is a feeling lost long ago. This Jill will go where angels fear to tread. Hell is a place she has already been.

She is almost grateful.

Its a defiance he won't understand but she does it anyway, reaches to hug him anyway.

_I'm not afraid of you. _

Jill tells herself it isn't a lie, that fear of him isn't instinctive.

He isn't as warm now, not the unyielding red-eyed pillar he will be. For now he is just the Captain, not the mastermind of the world's destruction.

_But he will be. _

Jill pushes him away without giving him the chance to hug back, trying to shove him across the room. Crack his skull on the wall, make him bleed and pay. Get him away before he can hurt her.

Remembering the last time she had been this close to Albert Wesker, when he had been rage and lust.

_Why would I think of that? _

Her weak muscles can barely manage to move him.

Pale lips pull down at the corners. So weak, it was pathetic. She would never survive like this.

_Alright that's the first thing on my list. Baby steps here. _

Finally, a goal. A small step in...whatever direction she was supposed to be going.

_Save the world...shouldn't that come with a book? "Saving the World for Dummies." I could handle that. _

Seeing all the old faces, so alive, so young and hopeful is a painful nostalgia. Could she change their fate?

Could she even change her own?

She meets the watchful blue eyes from across the room with her own. The man so much hinged on.

_One step at a time._

Turning memories over in her mind, again and again.

* * *

_I don't possess these thoughts I have - they possess me. I don't possess these feelings I have - They obsess me._

_-Ashly Lorenzana_

* * *

Reviews are super appreciated.


	3. Face Your Fear

A/N: DarkGothElegantGirl22: Thank you! I'm not actually very good at writing fluff. I'm planning on trying to master it with a few one-shots eventually but we'll see. Wesker seems to hate everyone so its a bit fitting. A blurry line, love and hate. You'll like this Jill, she's a fighter. A bit crazy but who wouldn't be? Thank you again for reviewing! :)

Welcome back! Alright, if you read the last five or six chapters (Or just Id and Ego) of Window, this story will make a whole hell of alot more sense. I apologize for the trouble. Making it stand on its own is...difficult.

Enjoy!

_Face Your Fear_

* * *

_I must get my soul back from you; I am killing my flesh without it._

_-Sylvia Plath_

* * *

The sharp bang echoes through the grimy R.P.D. gym like a gunshot. Failure given voice. Ever her iron will can only do so much, only push aching muscles so far. The heavy metal weight has won this round.

She lets go of the worn handles, leaning back onto the faded red seat. Breathing like she has run a mile, sweat soaking through her shirt. The hospital had discharged her three days ago, with appointments made for physical therapy.

Jill is doing her own iron-pumping therapy in the run-down gym, the exertion an outlet for the despair threatening to drown her. One small goal, one step at a time.

_God, I'm so effing weak. I'll die like this. _

The world isn't supposed to rest on the thin shoulders of a twenty-something girl from Chicago.

Her arms feel like shaking limp noodles, fifty pounds and she can barely lift it five times. A frustrated sigh makes her long blond bangs flutter, blue eyes glaring. She has twenty three months until The Day.

Twenty three months to do...something. Fuck the doctor's advice to take it easy, she doesn't have time to waste.

_And I've got no plan. Starting from scratch. I need to hurry or I'll lose my spot on the squad. _

The metal of the machine is cool against the sticky forehead she leans against it. Leaving S.T.A.R.S. isn't an option. How could she let someone else walk into the trap she knew was coming?

How could she abandon her team?

The weight bangs again, her arms unable to take the strain.

_I need a fucking trainer. _

The old towel is worn and soft on her sweaty skin. Chris could do it, an enthusiastic gymrat with the muscles to prove it.

_Except he treats me like I'm a priceless Ming vase. I'm running out of options here._

The rest of the guys were just as bad, in Alpha and Bravo squads. Jill crosses off names on her mental list as she opens the door to the track out back. A treadmill isn't the same as running outside, doesn't prepare a runner for weather changes or uneven footing.

Dust becomes a small cloud trailing her movements as she runs, circling the track.

_The best training is from the real thing._

_He_ would tell her that in years to come. When she will be ripping the limbs off Majini, her feet leaving bloody tracks. The long blond ponytail flips as her head whirls around, checking to see if red still follows her jogging feet.

Her shoes leave small craters in the dusty gravel, nothing else.

_A crime I haven't even committed yet and I still feel guilty about it. I wonder if there's a psychic therapy hotline..._

The sigh of relief doesn't make it out her lungs, steps faltering. By the door stands a tall figure she knows far too well, eyes hidden behind dark lenses.

_Wesker._

Her very bones feel the momentary flash of old fear.

_I will not be afraid of the man for what he hasn't even fucking done yet! _

Small feet impulsively change direction.

Steel is slowly replacing bone in her spine.

* * *

Was he imagining it? The split second flash of pure fear before her face became carefully blank?

_It was there. I'm sure. But why?_

Wesker takes a long drag on the cigarette in his hand, savoring the soothing effect of nicotine. Irons had no idea how often cigarettes saved his miserable degenerate life. Listening to the man drool over the female applicants for S.T.A.R.S had given him a brief two pack a day habit.

The pale ethereal girl on the track is reawakening the habit. A living ghost, haunting him since the brief visit three days ago. He leans back against the building, one foot resting against the bricks.

A puzzle he can't solve, missing the vital pieces. It will drive him insane.

_Blond and afraid. Why? What changed?_

The expression didn't fit, she had never been outright afraid of him before. Quiet and respectful, more than a little in awe of him but never afraid.

Details obsess him, ever the scientist.

"Captain." Only years of training keeps him from jumping at the interruption, lost in his thoughts. The flesh and blood Jill Valentine is right next to him, leaning one sweaty bare shoulder against the brick. Watching him with unreadable intense eyes.

Close enough he can feel the heat rising from her sweaty skin. See how well sweat made the thin tank top cling.

He hadn't noticed her approach. He should have.

_Fuck. _

Unease coils in his gut and he buys time with another drag on the cigarette.

_It was just a dream. _

Jill cocks her blond head to the side, blue eyes suddenly glittering with amusement. A smirk dances on her pale lips.

He has dreamed about those lips, aggressive and eager on his own. Of small white teeth biting down on his bottom lip, making him groan.

The snarl threatens to break the surface calm, reveal the monster inside.

_Fucking stop. _

"You should be resting Miss Valentine." The level of dedication to strength was surprisingly impressive, to be here so soon after waking from her long sleep.

Not that he would admit it out loud.

"Nah, you never know when the the zombie Apocalypse hits and you'll need to run for your life." The mocking seriousness of her face makes him blink.

_You have no idea you stupid little girl. _

Dead white teeth flash in a perfect smile, amused despite himself. The lighter flares to life as he starts a second cigarette. Jill pushes away from the wall, turning back to the track.

He is intensely aware of her right arm a hairsbreadth from his, heat radiating through his shirt. Unusually close for her, out of place like the fear and the hair.

Unsettling. Broad shoulders hunch, shifting slightly away.

"You watch too many b-rated horror movies."

"Because Shakespeare didn't write it sir? Would you prefer Romeo and Juliet with zombies?"

Romeo and Juliet. Hadn't it been in his dream too, embossed gold letters on a leather cover?

_Lust-driven fools. Never. _

He is lost in the tangle of his thoughts, again. This time unable to control the surprised start as slim fingers reach up and tug the half burned cigarette out of his mouth. Sunglasses hide wide eyes as her pale lips wrapped around the base, eyes fluttering shut as she inhales deeply.

What would they feel like wrapped around...?

_Shut up. Shut up. _

Air came in short staccato breaths.

A slim pale hand held the cigarette out to him. Wesker simply stares, still as a statue. After a long moment Jill slips a hand down the forearm closest to her, pulling a gloved hand upward.

Carefully she wraps two gloved fingers around the butt, turning away without a word. A smirk far too similar to the one he usually wore on her lips as she pushes the door open, leaving him with his thoughts.

The gloved hand moves without his permission, lifting the stick to his mouth for one last long drag.

The lingering taste reminds him of the dream.

_No. No. No. NO. _

The door swings open again, a flaxen head leaning out.

Black boots grind it to dust, jaw clenched in rage.

_Get the fuck out of my head, fucking bitch._

* * *

Shaking hands peel the lid off the can of tuna, adrenaline spike wearing off. Coming down from the high.

She is provoking a demon, poking a sleeping bear.

_I'm a fucking monkey to him. He'll hate himself if he touches me. It'll eat him alive if he doesn't._

Jill hums the moonlight sonata as she watches Al inhale.

Cruel smile on her lips.

_I'm not afraid. _

She almost believes it.

* * *

_We gain strength, and courage, and confidence by each experience in which we really stop to look fear in the face... we must do that which we think we cannot._  
_- Eleanor Roosevelt_


	4. Shadows

Hey! Review please? Y'all are killing me here. It's good for the soul.

_Shadows_

* * *

_He who fights with monsters should be careful least he thereby becomes a monster._

_ When you stare at the abyss, the abyss stares back at you._

_-Friedrich Nietzsche_

* * *

The glow casts long shadows, the square computer screen the only light in the room. Jill clutches a cold cup of coffee, the contents untouched. A red marker makes frantic circles on the map stretched out on the desk.

Red circles of death, marking each of Umbrella and Tricell's labs from memory and the long hours of tireless research. A pox on the world, factories for the walking dead. The marker dances across the map, circles turning into drops of blood before her tired eyes.

Every muscle in her body aches, so exhausted she can't sleep.

_I wish I could just lock the fuckers inside with their creations. How the fuck do they hide all this?_

Each lab had hundreds of researchers, hundreds of scientists and guards. Thousands of experiments, churning out better and more deadly viruses and weapons. Sowing the seeds of genocide one infected at a time. Stray drops of coffee spill down the side of the mug as she sets it down, trickling onto an old article about the founding of Racoon City.

Glowing praise for the research plant employing most the residents, the low crime rate and good schools. Perfect place to raise a nice, typical Midwestern point five kids, a dog, house in a quiet neighborhood. White picket fence. Steady job, paid vacation and holidays.

_-How was your day dear? -_

_-Good honey! The field test was a success, the subject can use a rocket launcher, track down a squad, and impale a human ribcage on a tentacle. Isn't that great? Now lets get Susie to soccer practice! - _

_Fuck._

The American Dream build on hungry shambling corpses.

Bile burns in her empty stomach, the bitterness of realization. Her mouth is suddenly dry. The people she knew (_knows_), the ones she passed (_passes_) on the street everyday, the very people she tried so hard to warn and save aren't innocent.

They never have been.

_How was I so blind?_

A little town like Raccoon should be sharing a police department with the county, not the home of an elite paramilitary rescue service. A service that paid very well, better than any other police job she's ever seen.

_Oh god..._

The mug hits the floor with a crash as she jumps jerkily to her feet, blue eyes staring blindly. The chair overturns, banging onto the floor behind her. Even in the warm August air her thin body shakes.

_No...no..._

Nothing had been hidden. All of it had been paid for.

_I'm just as guilty. I didn't even think twice about cannibals in the woods...I didn't notice..._

"Every day, humans come one step closer to self destruction..."

Wild eyes frantically search the room, looking for the source of the voice in the dim light. A darker shape shifts in the shadows, a monster in the dark. The marker bounces off the couch across the room, coming to rest in front of eerie red-gold eyes with slitted pupils.

Her heart pounds in her throat, scrambling for the pen light in her coat pocket. A small ring of light cuts the blackness with a click, resting on the small ball of black fur perched on the back of a plush chair.

Jill thanks her lucky stars, individually and by name, trying to still the bird of prey trying to soar out her mouth on furiously beating wings.

"Jesus Al. How did you get here?"

_Dumb question. Like that's a normal cat. _

Sharp white teeth glitter as he yawns before settling a content head back down. Suddenly eerie eyes studying her, never blinking. Wesker's eyes.

Was it so wrong to want a better world? To try for it?

_I wanted to lock all of Umbrella and Tricell up with their creations...he actually did it..._

Bile burns her throat and she chokes on nothing.

* * *

Mondays were the worst.

"Captain!"

_Fuck. _

Just a few seconds earlier and he would have made it. Safely tucked away in his office, reading incredibly dull reports and signing massive piles of paperwork no one would ever read.

Alone.

A few seconds he had wasted tripping over the damn cat.

Al meows up at him, rubbing a lithe body against his leg. Leaving hairs imbedded in the fabric. Wesker resists the urge to kick him, well aware of how popular the cat is in the station.

"Captain!" The cry repeats, the caterwauling of Chris Redfield and Joe Frost setting his teeth on edge. Any minute now and he'll be listening to their stories of girls and booze, the highlights of their weekend.

_Idiots. _

Its a wonder he hasn't "accidentally" lobotomized them yet. He waits in silence, fixing the approaching pair with a frosty gaze, taking a fortifying swig of the black hell known as S.T.A.R.S. coffee.

"Hey, the hospital faxed this over. They're authorizing Jill to be fit for duty." All Chris needs to complete the image of an overenthusiastic puppy is a slobbering tongue, the giddy energy and eager eyes already there.

The urge to tell the man to roll over and play dead is strong. He settles for taking the paperwork, scanning the past few months of remarkable physical progress. She had been at the R.P.D. Gym and track on a regular basis. The dedication impressive, even to him.

_Only the best can earn a place on my squad. _

He hasn't been able to smoke since without remembering. Remembering the taste of the shared cigarette.

_Fucking stop. _

He had found a new place to smoke at. Considered slamming her skull into the brick side of the building, splattering blood and brains.

"We won the local pool tournament Captain, you outta come out some time. Lighten up. It'd do you good..."

The look of patient incredulity makes Joe almost snort coffee out his nose.

"You been hanging out with Jill lately Captain? I swear she gave me the exact same look the other day...course could be now that she's blond and you're blond..."

_No one is like me fool. _

An image of ripping her blond hair our by roots, and cutting out Redfield's offending tongue placates him slightly.

Blue eyes return to scanning the paper as he retreats toward his office, only half listening to a following Chris ramble on in the background.

"...and I swear she sounds like you sometimes...You two aren't secretly dating or something right?"

He almost spits the mouthful of coffee out in surprise, blond eyebrows crawling toward his hairline. A strangled sound at a normally vacant desk over Chris' shoulder catches his attention.

Jill Valentine, pale as a living ghost. Intense haunted blue eyes.

A memory of a thin tanktop clinging to sweating skin has him hastily retreating to his office, leaving Chris staring at her red-faced.

* * *

She can smell the blood on her skin, coppery and metallic.

"_...I swear she sounds like you sometimes..."_

No trial, no jury could condemn her more. Chris' offhand remark branding itself into her.

Ripping newly formed scars open, bleeding fresh guilt.

_I'm not like him. I'm not._

Another conversation plays in her mind, of a time when his eyes were hellfire.

"_Can you really call me evil for wanting a better world? For trying to make it?"_

"_No. I can't. Sometimes I think the same."_

The response P30 forced out is pieces of her sacrificed soul.

Bile burns in her gut.

* * *

_Do you not weep?_

_Other sins only speak; murder shrieks out._

_The element of water moistens the earth,_

_But blood flies upwards and bedews the heavens._

_- Bosola, The Duchess of Malfi_


	5. Lost

_A/N: DarkGothElegantGirl22: She knows him far better than he knows her now. And knowledge is power! Again, thank you for reviewing! :) _

_Youlittlemonster: Thank you for reviewing! It is different. I hope I can pull it together without rambling too much. _

_Welcome back everyone. _

_Lost_

* * *

_O'er all hung a shadow and a fear;_

_A sense of mystery the spirit daunted,_

_And said as plain as whisper in the ear,_

_The place is Haunted._

_-Thomas Hood_

* * *

Standing apprehensively in the doorway he takes a deep breath, squaring shoulders usually hunched, wringing a pair of pale hands in an attempt to bolster his flagging courage.

Empathy isn't Will Birkin's strong suit. Science requires a keen mind and a brilliantly bleached coat, not a kind heart.

_Bleeding heart would get in the way. Messy thing. _

The white of his lab coat, he notes with familiar pride warm in his chest, is impeccable. Not a blood stain or yellowed armpit in sight. A nervous tug straightens a slightly wrinkled cuff.

_I will do it this time. I won't chicken out. _

He creates monsters not for a living but for the joy of it. It is a truth universally acknowledged, even by Annette his loving and equally unbalanced wife, that he is missing something. Some sensitivity chip or piece of a soul he doesn't believe in.

Some would say missing an entire soul like the figure seated across from him.

Sweaty hands slide into pockets, the silence broken by a throat being cleared.

_Yep, I'm actually going to do it this time. I'm going to ask Albert Wesker what's wrong. Hell must be freezing over. _

"Hey Al, you've read that report twice and put salt in your coffee instead of sugar. What's wrong?"

_There I did it. It only took a few months..._

He fights the urge to run as a blond head tilts up to stare at him from bloodshot blue eyes for a long heavy moment. Will looks away, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Preparing for a scathing retort and mentally rehearsing some excuse to leave.

Wesker might be his best (_only) _ friend but he doesn't take kindly to prying.

Annette had found out the hard way. The man had the amazing ability to turn a pithy phrase into the most potent acid dripping weapon of ego destruction.

Will holds his breath, staring fixedly at the coffee mug in his hand.

"It's that obvious?" The voice is soft and Will is pretty sure Wesker isn't talking to him, so he keeps on holding his breath and waiting.

_Can't rush Al. He's got to do things at his own pace. Like a cat._

Wesker rubs a dark glove over his sharp features, mumbling a curse. Strong shoulders slump as air rushes out in a sigh, looking the closest to defeat Will has ever seen him.

_He never slumps. Ever. How many times have I listened to his "slouching makes you look weak" speech? _

"Al?" The worry is almost palpable.

_Maybe he has cancer. Or a tumor. Or the plague. Or..._

"Remember those strange dreams I mentioned a while back?"

_...wha?_

Bloodshot blue eyes return to stare at him, like a big snake, mesmerizing with is gaze alone. Will leans on the doorframe, waiting patiently. Layers of time have helped him build a tolerance to those eyes.

"The ones about a blond and having the cat's eyes? Right before Miracle the Coma Girl woke up?"

"Her name is Jill Valentine, Will."

"Sorry. You know how I get with names."

"She woke up blond, Will. She looks exactly like the girl in my dreams. And...its strange. It's like she _knows_ what I'm thinking sometimes, what my orders are going to be before I give them. Like I'm... transparent."

_Oh. Maybe I should have let Annette handle this one..._

"She's in my head Will. How the fuck do I get her out?...Maybe I should kill her..."

_Sometimes you make no sense Al..._

He is incredibly grateful the phone rings before he has to come up with an answer. For the first time in their long friendship, he has no idea how to help. Females have never held so much as an atom of Wesker's attention for long.

_This girl must be special. Even I don't understand Al half the time, and I almost never know what he's going to do. _

"Wesker." A dark hand beats him to the receiver. "Annette. Calm down. What's wrong?"

_Wrong? Annette?_

The air is heavy. Wesker's face is unusually grim. The click of the phone in its cradle a gunshot.

"Sherry's missing. Annette thinks she wandered into the woods. She's on her way here."

The thud echoes as Will Birkin crumbles to the floor in a dead faint.

* * *

The petal hits the floor, tires screaming in protest. Her heart clawing mercilessly at her throat, trying desperately to escape in a mixture of surprise and fear.

_Dear God not here. _

In the trees is a figure. A small human figure.

"_...I swear she even sounds like you sometimes..."_

Jill has been driving aimlessly, the road stretching out into the distance. She has to keep moving, using wheels when her legs refuse to run another step. Afraid if she stops she will never move again. If she cries the tears will never stop falling.

The dreams are waiting for her when she stops, the memories a fossilized layer encasing her. A tomb she can't chip through, fitting for a girl who should be dead.

The headlights illuminate the ghostly pale little girl in a light dress. The night air is heavy and dark, the sky clear. The trees are familiar. Her wanderings have led her back, to the woods around the Mansion.

_Why does that surprise me? _

Jill throws the car into park, trying to remember where this girl looks familiar from as she climbs out.

Little girls shouldn't be alone in the woods at night. Not in Raccoon City. Especially not by the Mansion. The snarling face of a Cerberus as it rips into Joe's face pops into her head.

_Where the hell are your parents kid?_

"Hey there...I'm Jill. What's your name? What are you doing out here?"

"I'm Sherry...I was following a cat...but I lost it...and I can't remember how to get home..."

The tears in the little girl's dissappointed blue eyes tug on Jill's raw heartstrings. She holds out a slim hand and tries to smile.

"It's ok Sherry. We'll find your home, ok? Don't cry."

The penlight gives the woods an eerie glow, and she tries to swallow her heart back into her chest.

_Here goes nothing. _

She grips Sherry's hand tightly, asking a question she already knows the answer to.

"Do you know where home is sweetie?"

"In there." A small finger points into the dark. Only one building is in this area.

The Mansion.

_Fuck._

"There you are kitty!" The sleek black shape of Al is sitting inside her open car door, blinking smug red-gold eyes at them.

_What are you up to Al?_

She doesn't let go of Sherry's hand as she drives, Al purring comfortably in the little girl's lap.

* * *

"...Wake up Will!"

Annette is crying. Or it sounds like her, the little distinctive sniffles she makes between hiccuping fits of tears when she's upset.

Why is she crying? Is something wrong with Sherry?

_Sherry._

The world comes sharply back into focus, Annette's crying face and Wesker's study in blanknes hovering above him. His forehead barely misses Annette's as he jerks upright.

"Sherry. We have to find Sherry! That forest isn't safe!"

"She's already here. Look." A long hand points to the screen of one of the many monitors in the surveillance room. Standing at the main gate with headlights shining behind them is a small blond woman holding his little girl's hand.

Relief makes Will lightheaded.

"Who is...?"

"Jill Valentine." Wesker's face and voice are carefully empty, the shield of sunglasses firmly planted on his nose. Arms crossed imposingly over a muscular chest, rigid and intimidating. The discomfort rolling off him in waves.

_Oh. _

He takes a closer look at the grainy screen, but her face is turned toward Sherry and hidden.

"Well...are you going to introduce us Al?"

_Now I can give him as much hell as he gave me over Annette. _

His smile is as brilliant as Wesker's scowl is fierce.

* * *

_All extremes of feeling are allied with madness._

_― Virginia Woolf_


	6. The Mansion

_A/N: DarkGothElegantGirl22: Thank you again for the kind words. Sherry and Jill will be spending more time together later, and I wondered the same thing. It seemed odd considering Annette supposedly sent her to the police station when everything started. But c'est la vie! Al is rather creepy, but its fun. Once again, thank you for reviewing :)_

_YouLittleMonster: Thank you again for reviewing! Will shows up again in this chapter, he'll be around quite abit. He and Annette are interesting, zombie researchers with a good homelife, not the stereotypical "oh they're just evil". I hope you enjoy! :) _

_Welcome back y'all. Review if you can, k? _

_The Mansion_

* * *

_Evil is unspectacular and always human, and shares our bed and eats at our own table._

_-__W. H. Auden_

* * *

It could have been beautiful, long windows set in graceful frames dramatically surrounding tall doors. The thoughtlessly sprawling luxury calls for a Lady of the House in full Old Hollywood glamor sipping a glass of champagne while the band plays for carefully selected guests.

Left to rot and moulder like the creations within.

The Mansion.

_The beginning of the end or the end of the beginning? _

The gentle tug of a ghostly little girl in a whispering dress is the only thing keeping Jill from running, leading inextricably forward. A scream builds inside, the anguished cry of repressed years. Small white teeth clamp down on her lip to hold it in, keeping silence an old well-worn habit.

Silence could be the difference between life and death.

_Not here. Not here...please not here. I can't...I..._

Another fruitless fervent prayer, pleading ignored as all her others have been. God is cruel, today as always. Sherry pulls her ever forward on leaden feet toward a door her dreams won't let her forget.

_Hot breath on her neck as a Cerberus crashes through the undergrowth after her, a stumble away from a meal. Joe's blood red on its rancid mouth - _

A tall door swings open, a blond woman in a white coat with tears wet on her cheeks running toward them, haloed by the dazzling light from inside.

Blood floods Jill's mouth as she bites down hard, shaking finger on the trigger of the gun hidden in her coat pocket.

"Sherry! Thank God you're ok. Sherry..." The woman kneels in the dirt, arms wrapped around the girl and her gauzy dress. Two pale figures of mother and child bathed in the shining light from inside.

The white coat flaps in the breeze, a pair of white wings. Angelic.

_A mother. She can hug her daughter, worry about her, and still sacrifice some one else's child._

Jill drops the girl's hand, ready to slip away from the broken illusion, acrid bitterness on her tongue. A tight grip on her her shoulder makes her gurgle, not quite a scream, not quite a cough of surprise.

A man in a lab coat smiles warmly from beside her.

"Don't run off now, we haven't thanked you yet."

He turns toward the reunion, moving to hug both the woman and child. A family unit, loving and close knit.

Normal.

_How can they...and they create monsters?_

Their white coats flapping in the breeze, blasphemous wings.

"Miss Valentine. Do you patrol off duty often?"

Her feet are rooted to the earth, eyes going momentarily wide in her suddenly white face. She doesn't turn, doesn't look at the familiar figure leaning in the doorway.

_No...please God no..._

Another prayer unanswered. Why does it still surprise her?

_Him._

Al rubs her leg, a shot of warmth running up her body. She can almost feel Joe Frost's encouraging rotted arm on her shoulders, almost see his smiling half mouth.

_I can do this. _

For the first time Jill misses the clumsy bird mask. Her blond head turns slowly.

"No Captain, just driving and thinking."

Will Birkin glances between them, thoughtful.

Al sits beside her feet, looking satisfied.

* * *

She looks like she could be Sherry's older sister. He runs a hand through his daughter's bright hair, trying to sooth away the rush of paternal worry. Maybe a better look will ruin the correlation. Will shifts slightly, one hand still stroking Sherry's hair, other arm still around Annette's shaking shoulders.

Thankfully Jill Valentine hasn't tried to escape again.

_Good. Couldn't tackle anything to save my life. Terrible at football. _

Pretty, but not stunning like some of Wesker's previous conquests. The fragile china-doll face a bit sallow, the blond hair giving her a the aura of a spirit wandering the earth. Big blue eyes, shuttered and sad.

_She's like...I don't know...a heroine from some tragic play. What was it...Romeo and Julia...no, no that's wrong...what was it..._

Hardly more than a girl, maybe a year out of her teens at the most and short. Nothing about her fit the image Will had built in his head of a fierce Amazon able to be Wesker's equal. A quick glance toward his own little girl makes his insides clench. Sherry looks up at him with her own big blue eyes and inside his brain it clicks.

Blond hair, blue eyes, delicate features...and innocence. The real similarity was there. Like Sherry, Jill Valentine wasn't a sinner yet. Not like the rest of them.

_Juliet. Not Al's type. At. All. _

His friend would make a poor Romeo. Will's stomach churns as he dismisses the idea.

"Miss Valentine. Do you patrol off duty often?"

_She's just a kid Al. You're too much for plenty of adults, and she's just a fucking kid. _

Pure unadulterated terror flickers across the young woman's face, the visceral fear he has seen before on lab subject's visages dancing on features so similar to Sherry's. Will can practically see her bricking control back together as she turns, blond bangs swinging in the wind. For a moment he hates Al's fucking inability to be even partly normal, to respond properly to things like affection and care...and want.

_What the hell did you do Al? She's scared to death of you. What did you do? _

"No Captain, just driving and thinking."

The air between them could power a city. Wesker's carefully relaxed pose a very good lie, blue eyes hidden behind the shield of dark lenses. Intimidating presence complete, arms folded across his chest.

_And cue the part where she runs screaming. Good job buddy, first girl who actually interests you and instead of being charming you're an asshole. Why am I not surprised?_

The girl in question tilts her head up, an insolent gleam lighting her eyes. Will interrupts his internal rant, watching in fascination as not only does she not run screaming but leans down to scoop up a ball of black fuzz before moving forward.

"I think you had a stowaway Captain. She said she was chasing this guy." Her small booted feet stop in front of his friend, one hand displaying the R.P.D. Collar and ID tag on the feline before depositing him on Wesker's crossed arms. The tall man cradles him automatically.

"You're a very bad boy Al, you're supposed to be nice to girls."

_Oh my...Wait she's talking to the cat...and the cat's name is Al too? Whaaaaaat? _

Her face is just inches away from the cat, her voice breathy and low. A sinful voice, at odds with her pale face and wide eyes. The pulse jumps visibly in Wesker's neck, the tension in him tight as piano wire. Will is familiar with the pugnacious set of his jaw, the disgusted curl of his lips indicating a scathing comment percolating.

_Oh no you don't._

"My its chilly out tonight! How does coffee sound? We need to thank you properly Miss Valentine! You're the girl in the paper, the one who was in a coma? You know Al?" Pulling Sherry forward with one hand, and gently pushing Annette with the other, he gives Wesker a pointed glare before shepherding the little band inside.

_Fucking caveman. _

Sherry promptly grabs her new friend's hand, leading her toward the kitchen with Annette trailing behind the protective mamma bear.

"You will be nice. Whatever you're thinking about saying or doing stop it. She found Sherry. I owe her." Will stabs a finger into his friend's arm, holding his mesmerizing stare. Wesker's strong jaw is still clenched, the cranky posture apparent. The paternal urge to protect this strange girl from his friend flares.

_She's just a fucking kid. Too young for you. _

"Don't. I know you were going to spout something nasty. I know you. She didn't even _do_ anything Al. You make no fucking sense sometimes." Al the cat picks that moment to launch himself off the blond man's chest, trotting away in the direction of the girls went.

Wesker glares after him.

"Fucking cat. That was all I was going to say Will." He disappears down the hall, leaving Will staring at the seated form of Al by the corner with his red-gold eyes.

_Oh. Well...whatever. Al eh? Weird eyes you've got Furry Al. Never seen eyes like that before. _

The cat walks next to him as he heads down the corridor.

"You drive him insane, don't you kitty? Bet you're enjoying this."

Did the cat just smile?

_Nah, can't be._

* * *

"I don't know how it happened...I swear I only looked away for a second..." Annette is rambling, her hands shaking as she holds the coffee pot.

The same story he's heard a hundred times by now, every single missing child case. This is the first time he believes it. Most of them were simply in a different isle of Wal-Mart, forgotten by the toys or candy. The Birkin's only daughter might have been an accident but they are fiercely protective of her.

Gloved hands are gentle on hers, carefully taking the pot before she spills the contents everywhere.

"Let me. Go...spend time with Sherry." Annette gives him a watery smile, a shadow of her usual self-possessed confidence. Wesker adds extra sugar to the half-full cup he hands her, insurance against the shock and another round of tears.

"Cute kid...These are your friends Captain?" To his left is Jill's slender form, having extricated herself from Sherry and the exuberantly thankful Birkins. Her eyes are a physical weight, a reminder of his own weakness and the thudding pulse in his throat.

_Fuck. _

"I was the best man at their wedding." The memory causes his thin mouth to turn down at the corners. A wife was easy collateral for Umbrella to use. A child even more so.

_Umbrella will be nothing long before they know what hit them..._

"I should go sir." Small teeth worry at her bottom lip, drawing his eyes. Jill shifts away, moving toward the door as if sensing how unwelcome he finds her presence. His life as Alpha squad's captain and as Umbrella's researcher were two very separate entities. Any crossover was bad, a possibility of deception uncovered.

_Get away from me and out of my head girl. _

Blood throbs in his veins, body ignoring him.

"I'll walk you out." The Mansion was full of secret passages and twisting halls, far too easy for her to stumble onto something she shouldn't. Jill is far too popular in the R.P.D. to disappear without a trace unquestioned and unsearched for.

The dim hallways are silent as the grave, each step echoing as they draw closer to the front door. The air could power the city.

"What were you thinking about when you were driving Miss Valentine?" He doesn't know why he asks, in the darkness and the quiet. Jill stops in the foyer, thin shoulders tense, staring at the dark wood of the front door.

The pale blond pony tail swings as she turns, slowly as if under water. One slim pale hand reaches up, pushing the glasses up off his eyes. Blood thunders in his ears, frozen in place.

_Get your hand off me! _

Usually obedient muscles don't respond. Her voice is slow and soft, the voice of secrets. Of sin.

"I dreamed...in the coma...and it was strange...I died. We all died...you had Al's eyes...and you died."

_Al's eyes...like my dreams..._

Dreams of a blond with soft lips on his own, of fucking a dark-haired girl in the night and seeing a different face. He is a piano wire of tension and she is playing him without knowing it.

_Vile filthy fucking bitch. _

Her blue eyes go wide and scared as one gloved hand tangles in her hair, shoving her up against the wall. Her lips are soft like in his dream, mouth open in shock giving him access. The other gloved hand grips her chin, preventing her from twisting away, preparing for a fight.

The fight he gets he is not expecting; small teeth biting down on his lower lip, a small hand running through his hair scraping nails over a sensitive scalp. Responding to his violent want with her own fire.

_Don't stop you fucking whore. I'll fucking kill you. _

A shudder runs down his spine, a moan low in his throat. She is passion and defiance and desperation. No kiss has ever been like this, not even in the dream. Owning and consuming, a succubus kiss to steal men's souls.

_No._

Nothing will ever own him. His hand slides from her chin down around her throat ready to tighten. Weakness will not be tolerated.

Surprising strength shoves him backwards, hitting the opposing wall of the small room with a crack. He flattens both hands against the wall, eyes wide, breathing hard. Staring at her swollen mouth, part of him wondering what he was fighting so hard against when it felt so good.

_Nothing will control me. Not even this. I am above this!_

A fist catches him unprepared in the stomach, making him double over with a groan. A small but strong hand wrenches his chin upward.

"Don't take your issues out on me _Captain." _Jill's eyes are swirling pits of blue rage, and then her mouth is on him again, setting him on fire for a brief moment in a punishing kiss.

The door shuts with a loud bang after her, leaving Wesker a wide eyed thing frozen to the wall.

The light clicks on suddenly, flooding the room with blinding brightness. Will is standing by the switch down the hall, arms crossed in visible disapproval.

"Way to go Caveman. You forgot to club her first before trying to drag her away by the hair."

"Shut up Will. I'm going to fucking kill her."

A trembling hand comes to rest on his burning lips. A consuming kiss. It could own him, body and soul if he let it.

She could own him.

He can taste bile in his mouth, feel the skin crawling on his body.

_Never. I'll kill her first. _

Will shakes his head, expelling air in a tired sigh.

"You make no sense sometimes Al."

* * *

_It's our oldest deadliest impulse, The need to protect our own at the expense of any other living thing._

_And we give that impulse such a nice name, don't we?... love. _

_And love is a psychopath. _

_Sophia Hyde_


End file.
